The incense coiled in heavy spirals through Reiko's room, filling the air with an acrid, ancient scent that clung to her skin. She sat in the center of her futon, legs tucked beneath her, hands trembling in her lap. Around her, Shin Kazumi moved with solemn precision, drawing intricate symbols on the paper doors and wooden beams with a brush dipped in black ink.
The room was dim; only a few candles flickered in the corners, their flames shuddering at every breath of air.
Shin knelt before her, his brow slick with sweat. He held an ofuda — a sacred paper talisman — between two fingers, murmuring under his breath. His voice was low, rhythmic, almost hypnotic, as he recited the old sutras passed down by the shrine priests of Miya-zaki.
Reiko closed her eyes.
She could feel it — something cold — lurking in the corners of the room. Watching.
The exorcism wasn't just a ritual. It was a battle.
Shin struck a small bronze bell, the sound sharp and clear, slicing through the heavy air. As the sound faded, he pressed the ofuda against her forehead.
Instantly, a rush of freezing air blasted through the room. The candles guttered wildly. The walls groaned.
Reiko gasped, clutching the locket at her throat. It burned against her skin.
Shin's voice grew louder, more forceful.
"Onmyōjin no kotodama! Spirits, begone! Return to darkness!"
The paper talismans fluttered as if in a storm. From the corners of the room, whispering voices rose — too many voices, too soft to understand but heavy with malice.
The mirror on her dresser cracked.
Reiko screamed, pressing her palms against her ears.
Through the haze, she saw a figure — pale, small, hunched — crawling along the ceiling, hair dragging like wet ropes.
Kasumi.
Her mouth stretched into a grin too wide for her face.
Shin didn't falter. He slammed another ofuda onto the floor, and a flash of golden light burst outward. The crawling figure shrieked — a shrill, metallic sound — and evaporated into mist.
The room went deathly still.
Reiko gasped for breath, tears streaming down her face.
Shin knelt beside her, placing a steady hand on her shoulder.
"It's over," he said, though his voice trembled with exhaustion. "For now."
But deep inside, Reiko knew — it was only beginning.
The next morning, the village was in chaos.
Two villagers — a young woman and a middle-aged man — had gone missing overnight.
Their homes had been found empty. Doors wide open. No signs of struggle. No footprints leading away. As if they had simply been plucked out of existence.
Police cars clustered at the village square, their sirens cutting through the cold morning mist. Officers moved back and forth, interviewing shell-shocked neighbors.
Standing apart from the others was Mikami, a seasoned detective with sharp eyes and a jaw like a clenched fist. His gray suit was immaculate, his shoes polished — but his expression was grim.
Reiko watched from the edge of the courtyard, heart pounding.
Mikami approached her grandfather — old Keisuke Sakuma — who stood ramrod straight despite the cane in his hand.
"Sir," Mikami said, voice clipped. "You're the head of the Sakuma family, correct?"
Keisuke nodded, his face unreadable.
"We're investigating the disappearances," Mikami continued. "And…" — he hesitated — "there have been rumors about… old curses. The Miya-zaki Shrine. The Sakuma bloodline."
Keisuke's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Curses are the tales of frightened children," he said coldly. "You would do better to focus on real threats."
Mikami held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded stiffly.
But Reiko could see the doubt in his eyes — the uncertainty that rational explanations would not be enough this time.
That night, Reiko couldn't sleep.
She lay in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to the wind howling outside like a living thing.
At some point, exhaustion overtook her.
And she dreamed.
At first, it was silent. A black, endless silence, thick and choking.
Then — voices. Whispers.
She turned — and saw people. So many people — faces twisted in pain and terror, their hands reaching for her.
They clawed at her legs, her arms, pulling her down.
Their mouths opened, but no words came out — only the sound of rushing water, like a river trying to swallow her whole.
She struggled, kicking, gasping, but the hands were relentless.
A familiar voice cut through the chaos.
"Reiko!"
She looked up.
Koroe — pale, furious — stood at the edge of the swirling mass, reaching out.
"Don't let them pull you under!" Koroe shouted.
Another figure appeared — Shiki, grim and cold as ever.
"You must go to Hairama," Shiki said. "That's where the answer lies."
"The kidnapper," Koroe whispered, eyes wide. "He hides there. Beneath the roots. Beneath the blood."
Reiko tried to reach them — but the hands dragged her down, and down, and down.
She woke with a scream.
Drenched in sweat, gasping for air, she clutched the locket so tightly it bit into her skin.
The clock showed it was just past three in the morning.
Outside, the forest loomed black against the sky.
And somewhere, out there in the darkness, something was waiting for her.
She knew what she had to do.
Hairama Forest.
The place of old secrets. The place where the missing were being taken.
The place Kasumi — or whatever wore her face — wanted her to find.
Reiko rose from her bed on trembling legs. She pulled on a jacket, grabbed a flashlight, and slipped out of her room.
The house was silent. Her grandfather asleep. Shin — exhausted from the exorcism — likely dead to the world.
She couldn't drag them into this.
This was her burden.
Her curse.
The grass was slick with dew as she crossed the estate grounds. The gate creaked open with a soft groan.
She stepped into the night.
The village was silent. No dogs barking. No lights in windows.
Even the air seemed to be holding its breath.
Reiko turned toward the distant line of trees.
Toward Hairama.
And as she walked, she thought she heard — just behind her — the soft, wet slap of bare feet on the ground.
Following.
To be continued